Page 20 of Deadly Force
“Sorry,” he says, voice low. “Reflex.”
I yank my hand back, cheeks burning. My pulse thunders in places it shouldn’t. I try to laugh it off, but my voice catches. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have taken a swing at you.”
His expression shifts—controlled tension giving way to something softer. He swallows hard, a flush creeping up his neck.
“You didn’t hurt me,” he says. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I’m fine.”
I am so not fine.
My hand’s already forgotten. It’s the realization of just how strong he is—how easily he stopped me, how close I still am—that’s the bigger problem.
FIVE
Caleb
I’m losing it. I must be. A few hours ago, when Brooke told me about this location, my instinct was to insist she cancel. For the last ten hours, I’ve been overthinking every scenario, running through all the hazards. All because Brooke has an insane desire to be the world’s first Christian Gonzo journalist.
She’s far too headstrong to consider how much of a risk this is. I doubt she’s factored in all the variables I’ve had to account for.
The geography alone is a nightmare. Like all civilians, Brooke has no understanding of what it takes to consider all routes, traffic patterns, chokepoints. Situational awareness is everything. So is proximity. If I had it my way, I’d be glued to her, offering tight body cover—not the perimeter shadowing I’ve had to settle for.
I adjust my vest and peer through the window. The sky’s black, the mountain barely visible against it, adding to my unease.
Guarding a civilian is just about the hardest assignment there is. They have no idea of the potential danger. No training and no clue that if they die, it’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
“That’s got to be her,” Brooke says.
I crane my neck and follow her line of sight. A woman, hair slicked back in a ponytail, around five-six, wearing a Wildcats sweater, leggings, and faded Brooks running shoes, has just climbed out of a Mazda sedan.
I jot the plates down and ready myself to move. “Stay near the truck. I’ll be concealed nearby.”
Brooke’s shoulders tense. “If she sees you…”
I grunt. “She won’t.”
With a heavy sigh, Brooke nods, her eyes locked on the woman as she waits outside the entrance. Slowly, she exits, and I do the same, slamming the door at precisely the same time she does and using the shadows as cover.
Now on high alert, I perch the SIG MCX Rattler on top of the Pathfinder and scan the empty street, watching for anyone loitering in doorways, shadows that move, cars slowing down, or parked with people inside slouched low, like I just was. I might have dual-tube, military-grade thermal and night vision on my scope, but if the threat is her sourceand she’s carrying a knife, I may not have time to act.
Brooke raises a hand in greeting and I shift position to combat-ready. The buttstock presses into my shoulder. I squint through the optic, barrel aimed at the closest threat. Full engagement stance. My muscles bunch. I shift my weight, ready to run, ready to shoot.
Brooke is relaxed, her posture open and friendly. I start to pray.Lord, help me see if anything changes. If I miss anything. Guide me. Strengthen me. Keep my focus. Help me get her home safely.
Brooke gestures for the woman to cross the road so they can get closer to the Pathfinder. Her source is even younger than I first realized—barely twenty—and Brooke wasn’t exaggerating about her terror. Her eyes won’t settle. She’s looking around as if expecting something to leap out of the shadows and grab her. Even with the eerie green of my night vision and the warped radiant heat signature distorting my view, there’s a manic look to her. This just keeps getting better and better.
As they approach the Pathfinder, I ease the rifle off the truck and shift to a tactical carry as I reach for my FLIR BNVD-Fused goggles. Once they’re on, I creep into the bushes, crouch low, hit record, and hope I’ve gotten a clear enough shot for Hightower to run facial recognition and search NCIC for criminal activity.
I wait, coiled, ready to strike, when Brooke’s voice makes a cold sweat break out. “—closes soon, but if you’d feel safer, we can take a walk. I have a flashlight.”
I grit my teeth. She’s blatantly ignoring my instruction not to take the trail. The girl replies in a shaky voice. “Thanks. I just… I feel like he’s everywhere.”
Praying God’s got angels on standby, I wait until their footsteps fade, then ease to standing and quietly hit the trail after them.
Using every skill I have to tread softly, I creep closer. Close enough to move, far enough not to spook her source. I step lightly, gently placing the ball of my foot first, then rolling to the heel, controlling my breathing and avoiding anything that could give me away. Staying off the center of the trail as much as possible, I keep to the shadows and time my steps to Brooke’s. Stop when she stops. Stay six paces back so I can keep her in my sights.
The girl is talking too quietly for me to hear, but I don’t need to know what they’re saying to watch Brooke’s back.
